Westworld Romance

I straightened my suit jacket for what seemed to be the fiftieth time and tried to calm my pounding heart. The guard shack was directly ahead and my wobbly legs were propelling me towards it. I fingered the laminated pass, too nervous to look at it but knowing that all of my hopes and dreams lay within its little 2" x 4" frame. I would have one chance and this one chance only. It had to be today and it was now or never.

An overweight balding man with the eyes of a hawk sauntered out of the shack, hitching his pants up a bit and tucking a stray edge of uniform in as I approached. "Good afternoon." He squinted at me in the retreating sunlight and set his cap on the back portion of his head to get a better look at me. I had tried to appear professional so I dressed in my best suit, wound my long, brown hair into an elegant chignon and had paid $35 dollars to have my make-up done. I hoped it was enough.

"Hello." I gave him my sunniest smile, presenting the badge. "I'm Mr. Mirisch's personal secretary, Rona Navins, and I have some important papers for him to sign."

His eagle eyes scoured my badge, then returned to my face. I knew the picture matched. I'd taken a passport photo and had carefully inserted over the original but the signature was going to be a problem. I hadn't had enough time to practice and he'd see the discrepancy right away.

"All right, Miss Navins." He handed me a clipboard, its pen attached by a silver thread of beads. "Sign in."

I took the board, filled in the required information and signed in the allotted box. He took it back, glanced at my badge and returned the clipboard to its resting place. "They're on the western set on the back lot. You can take one of those carts over there."

"Thank you."

For the first time in five minutes, I breathed. I had made it. I was on the Universal Studios lot in Hollywood, California, heading for the back lot where they were filming the movie "Westworld". Heading for the man I'd been in love with since I'd first seen him in "The King And I": the gorgeous Yul Brynner.

I forced my legs to remain solid, chose a cart from the line and headed off, following the signs for the back lot. Huge, looming buildings passed on either side of the concrete road and I fantasized about stars like Henry Fonda and Anne Bancroft spouting lines inside their walls. Limousines and Cadillacs trundled by, carrying VIPs from here to there and I had to stop twice for huge portions of sets to be wheeled from one destination to another and once for a pair of beautiful stallions.

Finally, I reached the back lot and my heart began to pound again, despite the brief respite. I passed crew members, working on various portions of the set and stunt men choreographing their acts, looking for the star trailers. I knew I was close when I saw James Brolin and Richard Benjamin play fighting with each other near the saloon.

"Sure we won't do?" Brolin gave a wry wink to Benjamin who laughed conspiratorially.

"Sorry, guys." I grinned. "I really need Mr. Brynner."

"How is it that he's bald and gets more chicks than we do?" Benjamin asked, shaking his head.

James Brolin shrugged, turning back to me. "He's getting a massage in his trailer. Number six."

"Thanks!" I put my foot on the pedal and started towards the cluster of trailers.

"Hey, don't keep him too long! We have to shoot in twenty minutes!"

I gave a small wave in acknowledgement. My nerves were jumping like crazy as I pulled the cart in front of the trailer six. My God! He's in there! I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. You can do it! I reached inside my jacket pocket and extracted a few bills I'd placed there for just an opportunity such as this.

The masseuse just stared wide-eyed at me as I entered and I held a finger in front of my lips, asking for her silence. She did so and smiled when I held up five twenty dollar bills, gesturing for her to leave. She took the money and quietly left the trailer. I quickly locked the door, taking a shaky breath. It was only then that I looked down at the body on the bed.

Yul Brynner lay on the bed, the lower half of his body covered by a towel and a washcloth draped over his famous face. "Linda, what's the matter?"

"N-Nothing." I stammered, yanking my jacket off. "Just needed a little more oil." I grabbed the warmed bottle of oil, squirted some on my hand and started massaging where she'd left off. I wasn't sure if she'd done his back but I wasn't going to waste time. I applied my warm, oil-slicked hands to his hard abdomen, lightly kneading the muscles and moving downward, past the edge of the towel.

At first, he didn't move. His cock thickened, filling with blood as my gentle ministrations caught his attention and I stroked it, watching in awe as it continued to arise. Then suddenly, he sat up, grabbing my wrists in a vise-like grip. I felt light-headed as his dark discerning eyes stared into mine, sizing me up with a glance.

"Who are you?"

I swallowed and said breathily, "A big fan."

He glared at me for another long minute and I shook in his grasp, fearing his wrath. Surely he would throw me out. His strong hands pulled me forward, stretching my arms apart and his teeth found my nipple through my silk undershirt. An involuntary moan left me as his teeth nibbled one, then the other into hardness. He released my wrists which throbbed in pain that I only noticed for a moment, his eyes locked intently on mine.

"Shirt off." I immediately obeyed his bark, feeling the heat rush to my face with the knowledge that he was checking me out. His hands cupped my breasts, his fingertips rolling the nipples roughly. "Nice." He pulled me forward again, this time, laving my breasts and nipples with a hard tongue, using his teeth to graze me and make my pussy start creaming. I reached down and hiked the sides of my skirt up, then grabbed his rod and rubbed the thick head against my slit. He hissed at the sensation and grabbed my ass, running his fingers down my crack and tried to maneuver himself into me. It didn't quite work so I reached down again and lined him up with my hole.

"Oh, yes." The two words escaped me in a long, drawn-out hiss. His thick prick split me open, making me glad that I was already wet. I put my hands on his chest, smiling when he gripped my hips and started moving me up and down on his pole. The head of his cock touched a place inside me that made a ball of fire burn in the pit of my stomach. A shiver ran through me with each stroke.

The muscles in his arms bulged as he lifted me again and again and I grabbed my own breasts, lifting one to my mouth to suck my own nipple, gasping at the darkness in his eyes. His cock seemed to harden even more at my show and I continued, holding on for dear life as he pounded me harder and harder. I bit my nipple as I came and he roared, pumping his thick cum into my quim. I released my tits and laid my head down on his chest, murmuring his name over and over in a sex-crazed litany.

After a few minutes, he turned to the side, letting his soft prick fall out of my creamed hole and setting me on my wobbly legs. There was a knock on the door and someone called, "Mr. Brynner, you're wanted on the set."

I tugged my skirt down and pulled my jacket on, trying to straighten my partly tangled hair and he caught the badge, giving it a sharp examination. "This is very good," He smiled. "But not good enough." He swung his legs off the table and crushed me to him, his mouth searing mine as he gave me a deep, French kiss. "Check with George at the guard shack tomorrow for a new one." My heart leaped in my chest as he shrugged into a robe, pausing near the door. "This relaxed me much better than the massage. Hope you're as good tomorrow."

I exited the trailer with him, watching him stride across the lot, heading for the costume trailer and I stood there, my pussy still twitching and his semen coating the insides of my thighs. Just as he entered the door, he turned and gave me a wave, which I returned.